Page 26 of Symphony for Lies

I felt a sudden pressure in my chest.

A suffocating realization.

Piano. Music. The wind chimes. Were they… connected?

“I’ll take the day off.”

Grandma blinked, then smiled softly.“We’ll go together.” She squeezed my hand firmly as if anchoring me to reality.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Together.”

Later that night, I sat at my desk, staring at my checklist.

I should’ve gone to bed, but I flipped through my lesson plans and organized materials for the group tutoring session. It didn’t take long.

I had already prepped over the weekend. But I needed something to occupy my mind. Something other than the wind chimes.

The melody had stuck with me. I found myself replaying their tune in my head, the numbers carved into the columns, the haunting melody… The order, the number of chimes…

My fingers moved on their own, scribbling down the pitches on a piece of paper.

Was there… a hidden message?

At first, it was nothing but random tones. But as I started to remember what Mr. Watson taught me, I saw it. Each tone was assigned to a corresponding letter. A for the first pitch, B for the second, C, D… until G. Then I cycled back, using a simple alphabetical cipher.

A musical scale turned into a code.

T-H-E-S-E-C-R-E-T

I froze. “The… secret?”

My pulse pounded in my ears.

I kept writing, letting the melody I remembered guide me. Every pitch, every pause. It wasn’t random.

Someone had turned music into a message.

The next set of notes formed words.

T-H-A-T-W-A-S-J-U-S-T-T-H-E-B-E-G-I-N-N-IN-G

“That was just the beginning.”

My breath hitched. The melody had stopped too soon. The message wasn’t finished.

I stared at the page, my fingers gripping the pen so tightly it nearly snapped.

A shiver ran down my spine.

I tried to keep going to figure out the rest, but the melody kept cutting off abruptly. It was incomplete. Then I remembered the music sheets beneath the boy’s head; what if they held the missing part or… the real message?

I shoved the paper away, scribbling over the notes in frustration. Then, I ripped it apart and tossed it into the trash.

“I should stop this.” My voice shook. But the notes still rang in my head.

Not just the notes. The face of the boy, the bloodstained sheet music beneath him, and the ominous message that wouldn’t leave my mind.

My gaze fell on my nightstand, where Tristan’s rose lay. His soft and melancholic piano playing echoed in my mind, making my thoughts just a little more bearable.

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